


Among the Wreck

by opencirclefleet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, shippy or non shippy, whatever you want to read into
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opencirclefleet/pseuds/opencirclefleet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin looks like hell when Obi-Wan's reinforcements arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble I did a few weeks ago. Originally posted to my tumblr. Title inspired by "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons

Anakin looks like hell when Obi-Wan’s reinforcements arrive.

His tunics are torn and filthy, his skin caked with a thick layer of dirt, his dark hair made darker by the mud and blood and grime clumping the locks together. War-torn and ragged, Anakin’s crooked smile is the only part of his former apprentice that looks relatively clean, if completely inappropriate for a general who has just lost half a battalion.

“You look terrible,” Obi-Wan tells him, eyes roaming the crusted-over wounds that are just begging to meet the ship’s supply of bacta gel. Anakin flashes him a grin, picking a clump of purplish dirt off of his robes and flicking it towards him.

“Still better looking than you,” he quips, smirking at Obi-Wan’s quirked eyebrow. Though his tone is light and teasing, Obi-Wan can sense the pain and tension thrumming over their bond. Anakin’s shields are strong, but his raging exhaustion still bleeds through, shading the light blue of his eyes with haunted shadows.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of few people who can see through Anakin’s cheerful, victorious façade. As the former master of the supposed Chosen One, Obi-Wan has had years of experience to tell him when Anakin is nearing his breaking point. And right now, that point is far too close for comfort.

“Get some rest,” Obi-Wan tells him gently, giving his shoulder a firm, affectionate squeeze, “I’ll take care of the mission reports to the Council.” At Anakin’s weak protest, he adds, “I won’t have you collapsing in front of Master Windu again. You mean will be fine without you for the hours you are going to be resting.”

Anakin sighs, a sound that’s not quite pouty enough to be serious. “I suppose that’s an order?”

“You would be correct.”

The grateful look thrown his way is worth the extra work of a double debriefing, the unspoken ‘thank you’ clear in the Force as Anakin heads to their quarters. “And take a shower!” Obi-Wan calls after him, shaking his head in amusement at the rude gesture Anakin’s hand flashes him. He can only hope that his restless, borderline insomniac friend will follow his advice for once and get some sleep in between here and whatever new destination the Council no doubt has planned for them.

Obi-Wan gives both reports to the Council on the account of Anakin being in the medical bay (according to Obi-Wan, he had sustained wounds substantial enough to require treatment, but not serious enough to pull him out of active duty). It’s a solid excuse, but he still has the feeling that Mace’s usual scowl has a slight knowing undertone to it.

The Council places both men on active standby until they are needed (relatively soon, Mace assures him). It is only after he gives the debriefing that Obi-Wan feels something is off. A tendril of the Force nudges at him, telling him something is wrong. It only takes a moment of concentration to find that the source of the disturbance is a nightmare emanating from his and Anakin’s shared quarters.

Obi-Wan sighs and scrubs a tired hand over his eyes. He had thought Anakin’s nightmares were over by now. The assumption had been that after the incident with Anakin’s mother (an event that still guilted him for brushing off his padawan’s troubling dreams) would cease and his apprentice would be able to still his thoughts long enough to get a decent night’s sleep. But then the war had started, and they were moved from system to system on a monthly basis, fighting endless battles and camping out in less than ideal places, and Anakin had never been good with sleep anyway. It was no shock that, after enduring the grueling battle he’d just won, Anakin would have a bad dream or two.

***

Ten minutes later, standing in front of the door to the quarters, Obi-Wan can sense that Anakin is awake—and troubled. He knocks lightly on the door, the tensing of Anakin’s shields rippling in the Force. “It’s me,” he calls through the durasteel wall. The door slides open with a nudge of the Force, revealing the image of Anakin perched on the edge of his bunk, head buried in his hands. He’s tired, afraid and edgy, his shields stretched so thin that Obi-Wan can almost _see_ his inner thoughts racing around in his mind. He doesn’t look up as Obi-Wan enters—ashamed, maybe, or perhaps he just doesn’t want to be near anyone right now—so he doesn’t notice the steaming mug his former master has brought with him until it’s being pressed into his hands. Anakin looks at him then, confusion in the blue eyes that are ringed with dark circles.

“Hot cocoa?” he asks, sipping at the hot liquid. His lips twitch up in a smile, “Where did you get this?”

Obi-Wan sits down next to him on the bunk, placing a hand on Anakin’s back as he takes another drink. “The Temple refectory, last time we were on Coruscant.” Anakin is broadcasting his emotions again—fatigue, anxiety, but now also laced with relief and affection. Obi-Wan hesitates for a moment before discarding his Jedi exterior and moving his arm up to drape around Anakin’s shoulders, tugging the younger man closer.

Anakin stiffens for a moment—Obi-Wan is rarely one to engage in physical affection, much less initiate it—but soon he relaxes, all the tension melting from his muscles as he brings the steaming mug to his lips. Anakin’s eyes close as he inhales the chocolaty scent, leaning his head tiredly against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I remember you used to make this when I was younger,” he murmurs, voice tinged with a touched of nostalgia, “I kept waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares or something, and you’d wake up too and make hot cocoa and sit up with me until I fell asleep again.”

“It was the only way to get you to back to sleep,” Obi-Wan agrees with a soft smile, “Force knows how I got any rest back then. It’s a wonder I didn’t keel over before the first year was up.”

There is a trace of amusement in his voice, a touch of warmth along their bond. Both men fall silent as Anakin drains his cup, savoring the treat after months of nothing but government rations and supply bars. For a few quiet, peaceful moments (a rare occurrence in the midst of a war), everything seems like it will be okay, the war and battles and deaths, the Council and the Chancellor’s demands and the secret of Anakin’s marriage and the strain on their own friendship melting away, leaving behind only a blessed calm in its wake.

Obi-Wan is reminded of the times when nothing but a hug and a mug of hot chocolate could sooth whatever troubles Anakin had, all those years ago when his friend was the eager young padawan full of hope and compassion. They were much closer back then, the pain of Qui-Gon’s death and the awkwardness of an entirely new situation bringing them together. After Anakin hit puberty, his wild teenage years had driven them apart somewhat. Obi-Wan supposes they were both to blame; Anakin’s recklessness and disregard for orders and his own inability to get through to his padawan had put stress on their relationship.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” The thought strikes him suddenly, the words escaping his mouth before he can realize exactly what he’s saying. Obi-Wan turns his head to look at the younger man, “If you ever need anything, I want to help.”

Anakin pulls away with a slight frown. “Is this about the nightmare?”

“It can be about anything—but right now, yes.”

Anakin shifts away further, eyes clouded, leaning his elbows on his knees. Obi-Wan is surprised to find himself missing the contact. “It’s not the same thing as my mother, if that’s what you’re asking,” his voice is distant and pained, and Obi-Wan represses a wince, “It was just your run of the mill bad dream—the war, explosions, blasterfire. The usual.”

It’s a plausible explanation, but one can never be too sure—especially not with Anakin. “Are you certain?”

The younger man rubs his eyes, looking worn and stressed once more. “Yeah. I’m sure. It…doesn’t have the same vision-y feel as before.”

Obi-Wan waits for him to continue, but after a few minutes of silence it’s clear his former apprentice has nothing more to say. Instead, he takes a deep, shuddering breath and stretches. “Welp, I guess I should try to get some sleep. Maybe some without nightmares this time.”

Obi-Wan chuckles softly and stands, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I should probably get back to the bridge.” He takes the emptied mug from Anakin’s hand, looking intently at his friend, “You’re certain you are alright?”

“I’m fine, I swear,” Anakin’s voice is more relaxed as waves his hand, gesturing at the door with a playful, “Stop motherhenning and get back to your job, _General_ Kenobi. I’m sure Windu’s already found an assignment for us someplace filthy, high and low on supplies.” There’s still that tired, bone-deep weary feel to him, but the Force around him has lightened somewhat.

“I’m sure.” Obi-Wan turns to leave, relieved as Anakin stretches out on the bunk and closes his eyes. His mind is still troubled for his friend, but for now, the relative peace Anakin seems to have found is enough. Obi-Wan palms open the door and is just about to leave when Anakin’s voice stops him.

“Obi-Wan?” He turns back to the bunk. Anakin bites his lip, and Obi-Wan gets the feeling that there is much more that he wants to discuss. But instead, all he says is, “Thanks.”

A small smile graces his lips. “You’re very welcome.”


End file.
